


Nobody likes me

by LaurelSilver



Category: 9lives (Band), Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Branding, Broken Bones, Choking, Eye Trauma, Fights, Gen, Gun Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Revenge, Torture, Violence, Vomiting, hammer and nails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 06:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: Alternatively; why a table is useful in torturing your ex-bandmates to death





	Nobody likes me

**Author's Note:**

> Knowing names is useful.
> 
> HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD;  
> Funny Man; Dylan Alvarez (AKA Dilly/Mexi-boy/Sunshine boy/King Kong/Dilly-Doo)  
> Charlie Scene; Jordon Terrell (AKA Asshole/Scene Kid/Charlie-Warlie/Jordy)  
> Johnny 3 Tears; George Ragan (AKA Pudgy Porgie/Porgie/Georgie/Butterfly Boy/Johnny 3)  
> Danny; Daniel Murillo (AKA Golden Boy/American Idol/Danny-boy/Goldie)  
> Da Kurlzz; Matthew Busek (AKA Curly-boy/French Fry/Curly/Two-Face/Frenchie/Curly Fry)  
> J-Dog; Jorel Decker (AKA Jay/J-D/Jorelly)
> 
> 9LIVES & CO;  
> Deuce; Aron Erlichman (AKA Horse-face/you asshole/Pony-pony/Mr Fucko)  
> Arina Chloe; Arina Erlichman  
> Yuma; James Yuma  
> Ronnie; Ronnie Radke  
> Truth; Vardan Aslanyan
> 
> I know Matty isn't part of the band anymore. I wrote this before HU5 was being teased, and then my internet went down for the fortnight and then fuck you I'm not rewriting this whole thing just because Curly's a bellend. Just pretend, okay?
> 
> You can take anything as shippy if you want to.
> 
> Just to repeat warnings; gore, descriptions of gore, specifically eye gore. All good? Then continue.

Aron cried on international television and enough people bought it. He held in fake vomit at the crime scene photos, rambled lies about ‘good men’ that ‘didn’t deserve this’ between fake chokes. He even managed to make himself hyperventilate until he passed out. He’s a surprisingly good actor.

Even at the tribute concert, Aron barely held it together. He sat on the stage and shook, Arina and Yuma trying to comfort him as the crowd finished singing ‘The Loss’ for him. He stuttered out an apology and let Arina drag him away. Ronnie and Vardan barely held the concert together in the half hour it took to calm Aron down. Even the skeptics had to admit that they’d felt genuinely sorry for Aron in that moment. He seemed so vulnerable and pathetic as he’d sat there and cried, staring into the crowd, microphone dropped into his lap.

* * *

 Dylan had to admit he’d experienced a lot of freaky shit. He’d woken up to pitch black before. He’d woken up to a pounding headache so many times before it was practically normal. He’d even woken up to realise he’d been tied up before. He was pretty sure he’d woken up to all three at some point, which could only be the aftermath a damn good time. In fact, he only thing that was out of place when Dylan woke up to pitch black, a pounding head, and his arms tied was that he’d woken up with clothes on.

He sat up, shoulders stiff. Something slid off of his lap with a heavy thud, and the person he’d been leaning on groaned. They wriggled, and chains rattled as they moved.

“What the fuck?!” Jordon yelled, and Dylan jumped.

“The fuck, man?” Dylan kicked Jordon in the leg, “Don’t yell at me, it’s too fucking early.”

Several more groans from somewhere on Jordon’s other side.

“Where the fuck are we?!” Jordon yelled.

“I don’t know, chill the fuck down for a second,” George said.

Someone was whimpering a distance away, somewhere in front of the group. If Dylan focused, he could make out the size of the room they were in, barely twenty paces long and ten paces wide. The doors were opposite, someone stood in front of them with their hands above their head, someone else leant on the wall next to the doors. Something bulky was by the wall off to Dylan’s left. Beyond that, the room was empty. It smelt musty and slightly metallic.

“Who else is here?” Dylan asked. He shifted his hands and the chain around his wrists creaked.

“I don’t know,” George said, “Roll call! We got Jordon and Dilly, is this Danny?”

A soft smacking noise and Danny yelped. “Yeah, that’s me, don’t smack me I can hear you.”

“Sorry man. We got Matty?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Matty said. He was the furthest away from Dylan.

“We got Jay?”

The whimpering stopped, and the person in front of the doors gave a muffled scream. They wriggled, raised arms not dropping.

“Jay?” Jordon yelled.

Another muffled scream answered.

“Is that you Jay?”

Another muffled scream.

“Are you okay?”

Another muffled scream.

“Oh for fuck-” Matty spat, “One scream for yes, two for no; are you okay?”

One muffled scream.

“Okay, that’s the six of us,” George said, “Anybody else here.”

The person leant on the wall nodded, but didn’t speak.

“Right. Is everybody else tied up?”

A chorus of ‘yeah’ and a single muffled scream. The person shook their head. Dylan stared at them as they stood fully and ran their hand over the wall. They were skinny, thin limbs and torso with strangely large hands.

“Well shit,” George said, “Anybody got a clue how the fuck we got here?”

“We were at the studio,” Matty said, “About half four.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was on my phone and Danny fell asleep on me. I was like ‘dropping off ten minutes after lighting, what the fuck man?’ And then everything went black and I woke up here when Asshole started yelling.”

"I’m panicking, Matthew!” Jordon yelled.

“Then stop panicking, you’re helping nobody.”

“You’re helping nobody!”

“Alright!” George barked. A sharp smack, and Matty yelped.

“Thanks, George,” Jordon said.

“Anyone else got anything?” George asked.

Silence.

“Fuck. Nothing? Not even any shit in the past couple of days? Psycho exes, stalker fans, weird messages nothing?”

Silence.

“Hey, George?” Danny said, “You’ve just smacked Matty, right?”

“Yeah, he did,” Matty said.

“Are your hands in front of you?”

“Yeah,” George said, “Where are yours?”

“Behind me. You think you can stand up, find a light switch?”

“I can damn well try. Anyone else got kinda-free hands?”

Two ‘no’ and two short screams.

“Me, gimme a minute,” Dylan said, still staring the stranger down. He pulled his legs in, rising to a crouch.

George stood up awkwardly. His hips and legs were stiff from slouching on the floor for god knows how long. Something metallic rolled off his lap and rattled under Danny’s legs.

A loud clang, a buzz, and the electric lights erupted on. The person clapped, slowly and sarcastically, as he stepped away from the lightswitch. “Ever the voice of reason, Pudgy Porgie,” they said. Their voice was nasal and gratingly familiar.

Jay gave a muffled howl. The only one in ropes not chains, his arms were suspended above his head, fingers purpling, and pink tape covered his mouth. Aron ambled in front of him still clapping with every long step. Rubber gloves reached his elbows, rubber boots reached halfway up his shins, he was shirtless and his jeans were already full of holes and stains.

“The fuck are you doing here?” George said.

“I brought you here, dumbass,” Aron said, dropping his clap, “Mixed some strong melatonin in your weed and paid off your dealer to give you that bag specifically. Easy job, really.”

Dylan rubbed his eyes in the harsh light. Laid next to him, fallen from his lap, was a hammer.

“What the fuck would you do that for?” George said.

Dylan stood, lifting the hammer with him. It wasn’t a large thing, wooden handle not even the length of Dylan’s forearm. The head was scratched up, the claw smoothed to two sharp blades.

“You better answer him, Horse-face,” Dylan swung the hammer in circles in his hands.

Jay’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently at Dylan.

“Put it down, Mexi-boy,” Aron said, “It ain’t for you to swing.”

“It was on my lap, it’s mine now,” Dylan said.

Aron stepped toward Dylan, pulling a small .22 revolver from the back of his jeans. He pulled the hammer and shot Dylan in the knee.

Dylan howled, falling straight on his backside. Blood pumped from his shattered knee, and Danny screamed. Dylan clasped a hand over the wound and a flash of pain shot through his right leg. The blood was hot under his palm, soaking through his jeans and dripping onto the grimy floor beneath him.

“Everybody settle the fuck down and shut the fuck up!” Aron yelled.

George dropped onto his backside. Jordon and Danny leaned closer to Dylan, staring at his leg in shock. Matty glared at Aron, grinding his teeth.

“Just to make sure we all behave today,” Aron said and cocked the gun again. He turned and headed for Jay with the gun held up at his shoulder, showing the shiny little thing off, “There are five bullets left in this gun. One for each knee,” Aron dropped the gun to side of Jay’s leg, “One for each elbow,” Aron tapped the gun against Jay’s elbow, “And the last one,” he sighed, “I’m honestly still deciding. Maybe his head, maybe his crotch. He’ll bleed out either way. See what I feel like if we get that far.”

“You’re a fucking sicko,” Jordon spat.

“Were you not listening to everything I just fucking said? Watch your fucing mouth, Scene Kid.”

Jordon answered with a glare and a clenched jaw. A small box sat under his leg, digging into his thigh.

“Now! Some ground rules,” Aron uncocked the gun and shoved it into his waistband, “Dylan; stay on the goddamned floor.”

Dylan gripped his knee tighter, hissing at the flash of pain. His other hand fingered gently at the back of his leg. He couldn’t find an exit hole; the bullet was lodged somewhere in his shin.

“Jordon; keep you damn mouth closed. It’ll both our lives so much easier.”

Jordon maintained his glare.

“American Idol- shit!” Aron ran forward.

Danny flailed in panic, and something clattered to the floor. Aron grabbed Danny by the leg and lifted him, throwing Danny back into the wall with a grunt.

“You dropped your shiv, Porgie,” Aron said, “Hold onto it for me, yeah?”

Aron handed the shiv to George, and George folded his hands around it. It wasn’t large, barely an inch longer than the width of George’s hand. A blue glass butterfly had been badly glued to the handle, one of the wings cracked after its roll on the floor.

A metallic scrape, and Aron waved a branding iron in Danny’s face. The end was in the shape of a crude cross, ends twisted and uneven. Danny whimpered, shrinking into George’s side.

“You, Golden Boy, are encouraged to scream and cry as much as your little heart desires,” Aron said.

“Why are you doing this?” Danny said, “We need an ambulance for Dylan!”

“Because I’m fucking deranged and you’ve only got yourself to blame. And Sunshine Boy can bleed out for all I give a shit. You’re going to die in here, Murillo, get your head wrapped ‘round that now.”

Danny wailed, burying his face in George’s shoulder. George growled and glared up at Aron, driving his shiv into the ground in circles.

“Hey!” Aron gave George’s arm a kick, “Don’t blunt it! I wanna use that!”

“Why’d you give it to him, then?” Matty said. He could feel something in his pocket where his phone should be. Whatever it was, it was slim and sharp, jabbing him in the thigh whenever he moved his legs.

“Ain’t got a table to put ‘em on.”

“What?”

Aron laughed. He turned to Jay and strode towards him, swinging the iron in circles. “And by no means least, _best friend_. All you gotta do is enjoy the show,” he stopped in front of Jay, barely inches away. Jay pulled on his ropes with a low growl, and Aron only smiled. “Welcome to hell, bitch.”

Aron tapped a tip of the cross against Jay’s nose and walked away. He headed for the heater, the bulky thing against the wall. It was split open in the middle and covered in scrap metal. Aron switched it on, and it roared and shuddered as Aron put the iron in the opening.

Dylan reached for the hammer again and held it up, ready to swing the claw. Aron walked over with a sigh and kicked Dylan square on the bloody knee. Dylan yelped, swinging low and dropping the hammer to grip his leg.

Aron picked the hammer up and brought the sharpened claw down into Dylan’s hands. The heavy blades drove in, one in the back of his right hand and the other into the opposite thumb.

Jordon buried his face in Danny’s arm as Dylan screamed. Aron gave the hammer a sharp tug, carving a chunk of Dylan’s flesh with it. His thumb distorted as it dislocated, the thumb being forced at an angle from the rest of his hand.

Aron tore the hammer away from Dylan’s hands completely and fingered at the bloody claw like a fascinated child. Dylan trembled, staring down at his hands. He wriggled his fingers and blood pumped from the hole. His angled thumb wouldn’t move.

Dylan took a deep breath, and screamed.

Jordon sobbed into Danny’s arm and Danny curled around him, shushing him. Matty started to struggle to his feet but George grabbed his leg and shoved him back down.

Aron seized Dylan by the wrist chains and dragged him to his knees. Dylan howled as his weight was forced almost directly on his shattered kneecap. Aron continued to pull, dragging Dylan away from the wall towards Jay, leaving a thick trail of blood smeared after him.

Aron threw Dylan down at Jay’s feet. Jay tried to step back and lost his footing, swingin on his ropes and almost kicked Dylan in the side.

“Go careful, J-D!” Aron laughed. He dropped the hammer, caught Jay’s legs and stood him back up.

Dylan sat up and reached for the hammer again. It scraped against the floor as he dragged it closer to him, and blood rushed down his hand as he gripped the handle.

Jay groaned as he stared down at Dylan. Dylan swung the hammer at Aron and missed, Aron hopping over it and landing straight on Dylan’s leg. Dylan yelled, swinging the hammer around his head and down towards Aron’s knee.

Aron kicked Dylan in the face. Dylan’s swing fell short as he reeled back, spitting blood.

Jay screamed and pulled himself up on his ropes to kick at Aron. Aron shoved him away, sending him swinging back. Jay kicked his legs forewards, swinging himself at Aron and managing to get his legs wrapped around Aron’s torso.

Dylan scooted away with his good leg, taking the hammer with him. He spat blood and wiped his chin on his arm.

Aron wrestled with Jay, snaking a thin arm up between Jay’s legs. He brought it down and elbowed Jay in the crotch.

Jay grunted as his legs spasmed. Aron shoved him away and stepped back. Jay swung, still kicking and flailing at him.

Aron pulled the .22 from his waistband, cocked it, and stood over Dylan. He pressed the barrel into Dylan’s right shoulder and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed, followed by Dylan’s scream. Jay froze, and his swinging began to slow.

Aron ripped the hammer from Dylan and swung it straight at Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan collapsed to the floor, trying to grip the throbbing hole. Aron shoved the gun back into his waistband, barrel still warm, and caught Jay again.

“You’ve gotta behave, J-D,” Aron said, standing Jay up again. The ropes had bitten into Jay’s skin as he’d swung, sending blood dribbling down his arms, “Other people are getting hurt because of you.”

“Because of you, asshole!” Matty yelled.

“Shut up! I’ll get to you later.”

George punched Matty in the leg. Matt glared at him, and George shook his head and tapped a finger against his lips.Aron let go of Jay and pulled Dylan up again. Dylan howled in pain as he was forced onto his knees. His arms were tugged and pushed until his hands were behind his head, blood running from his shoulder and soaking into his shirt.

Knelt like he was in surrender at Jay’s feet, Dylan panted through his teeth. Aron stood behind him, giving Jay a full view of Dylan as he raised the hammer and brought it blunt-side down on Dylan’s raised elbow. The bones shattered and Dylan spasmed and yelled. Aron shoved Dylan’s hands into the back of his head as he tried to twist away. His right elbow throbbed with pain, the point caved in and already purpling. Aron raised the bloody hammer again.

Aron slammed the hammer into Dylan’s other elbow, less direct as he crossed the tool over his body to reach. Dylan grunted a sob. Aron hit his elbow a few more times, messy and frenzied.  
Aron threw the hammer next to Jay. It landed with a loud bang and a clatter as the handle fell, and Jay tried to step away from it. He couldn’t get much further than an extra inch. Aron gripped Dylan’s wrists, pulling them back up and over his head.

Dylan panted and whimpered as his splintered bones scraped and shifted under his skin and muscle. Intense pain flared in his right forearm, the bones smashed just below his elbow. The bone shifted and twisted. A lump bulged from his forearm and split open, dislocated radial bone piercing through the muscle and tattooed skin. Dylan howled and Aron dropped him. Dylan curled over himself, slumping to the floor, clutching his arms close to his chest. Jay stared at him, panting through his nose.

Aron crouched down and gave the misplaced bone a smack. Dylan yelped and tried to roll away. He rolled back as the weight on his mangled arms became too much to bear and he laid there, sobbing softly. Aron grabbed Dylan by the ankle and dragged him off to the side, leaving him to cry in the grime.

Aron sauntered back to his ex-bandmates. “Your turn, Scene Kid.”

Jordon glared at him from Danny’s arm, tears clinging to his chubby cheeks. Aron crouched next to Jordon and pulled out the box from under his legs. It rattled, and Aron gave it a shake down Jordon’s ear.

“Know what that is, Charlie-Warlie?” he asked.

Jordon leant away from Aron to look at it. It was a box made of a thick, translucent plastic, and several long, thin items shifted inside as Aron shook it side to side. Jordon shook his head. Aron turned the box. A blue label was stuck to the lid, now streaked with dense red. The logo of a hardware store was printed on the top left, followed by “Always useful; 4 inch nails; 10 pack”. Jordon took a deep breath.

“Jorelly!” Aron chirped and pulled Jordon to his feet, “We’re going to need Dilly’s hammer back!”

Jay growled and kicked the hammer away from himself. It skidded and spun across the floor towards Dylan, who whimpered and shuffled away from it.

Aron kicked and shoved Jordon to his knees in front of Jay and gave Jordon’s cheek a firm pinch. He headed to Dylan, picked up the hammer and brought it down on Dylan’s side. Dylan yelped and curled in tighter on himself.

“Behave, J-D,” Aron said.

Jay just glared at him. Aron went to the back wall, grabbing Matty by the hair and dragging him over. Matty struggled and yelled and swore every step of the way. Aron dropped him next to Jordon and patted his hair back down.

“Got a little task for you, Curly-boy,” Aron said. He hung the bloody hammer on Matty’s shoulder, handle leant on his chest. Aron opened the box, took one of the nails out and balanced the box on Matty’s head. “Don’t move a muscle. I told you ain’t got a table, and you’re the perfect height like this.”

“Fuck you,” Matty hissed through his teeth.

Aron seized the hammer. Matty tensed as the box wobbled on his head, but it didn’t fall.

“Good boy,” Aron poked Matty’s nose with the hammer head. Matty growled at him.

Aron crouched by Jordon, dragging the cold nail randomly over Jordon’s cheek. He clicked his tongue and ground the nail into Jordon’s cheek. “Your face is a lot smaller than I remembered,” he said, “I’m not sure I’ll make ‘em all fit.”

Jordon glared at him, tears falling freely down his face. Jay balanced himself, raising a foot to tap carefully at Aron’s side. Aron’s head snapped up and Jay shook his head at him, pleading. Aron rolled his eyes and nudged Jay’s foot away with the hammer.

“Stop it, J-D,” he said, “There ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

Aron shoved Jordon’s head back, pointed the nail just under the tip of Jordon’s chin and swung the hammer at it. It hit with a clang, and Jordon muffled his own scream behind tight lips. Two more hits, and the nail was almost completely buried in Jordon’s chin. Aron pulled Jordon’s head back down, and blood dripped down the metal.

Aron forced a thumb between Jordon’s lips, trying to prise his mouth open. With some tugging and an encouraging hammer-strike to the thigh, Jordon’s jaw dropped barely an inch. The nail had pierced behind Jordon’s gums and into his soft upper palate. He had pulled his tongue back and now it quivered behind the nail, not daring to touch it, tense on its awkward angle.

Aron took a second nail and poked at Jordon’s cheek until he’d positioned it between Jordon’s teeth. With no bone in the way, it only took one hit to force the nail between the flesh and muscle into Jordon’s mouth. Jordon groaned, tears and blood streaming down his face as Aron hammered the third nail into his other cheek. Jay and Matty stared, Jay crying with him, Matty flinching at every strike. The box wobbled on his head, getting lighter and lighter and more precarious with every nail Aron took.

The fourth and fifth nails were forced into Jordon’s jaw in front of his ears. Aron smacked Jordon on the ear and lower jaw several times, sending him reeling and almost knocked Matty over more than once. Aron would pull Jordon up each time with mumbled sorries and gentle bloody strokes to Jordon’s injured face.

Aron pointed the sixth nail above Jordon’s upper lip, tapping it in. The hammer head brushed the tip of Jordon’s nose and Aron apologised quickly, pressing a soft kiss to the bumped nose before hitting the nail in again.

Jordon choked and his eyes widened in fear and alarm. He coughed again, jaw tensing, skin tearing on gory piercings, and he spluttered.

Aron gave Jordon a rough shake as he flailed in panic. Jordon breathed deeply through his nose and continued to splutter. He spat blood through his teeth, straight in Aron’s face. The warehouse fell silent. Not a choke, not a whimper, only the clunking growl of the heater and the hum of the lights. Aron raised a hand to his face. Dylan’s blood streaked with Jordon’s as Aron fingered the spit.

Jordon’s shoulders shook. Laughter bubbled and choked in his blood-blocked throat and his eyes shone. He slumped backwards, falling against Matty and sliding down, body completely limp. Matty focused on a crack in the wall, jaw trembling. Dylan had sat up, staring. Danny buried his face in George’s arm, muffling his whimpers on George’s sleeve.

“Jordy?” George called, voice soft.

Aron pulled Jordon up by his shirt. Jordon remained limp, head rolled back, blood splattering from his jaw with every shake and dripping up his pale face.

Aron dragged Jordon across the room and tossed him next to Dylan. “Check him.”

“For fucking what?” Dylan spat.

“A pulse.”

Dylan stared at him, then at Jordon. He shuffled and pressed two fingers of his half-dislocated hand in Jordon’s neck. He pulled away and tried again higher up, where blood was beginning to thicken. The skin around Dylan’s peeking bone shifted with every movement, and Dylan would hiss with pain when he moved too sharply.

Dylan collapsed down, laying next to Jordon and blatantly pressing an ear to his friend’s chest. He held his breath, counting in his head. Jordon’s breath didn’t come and his heart didn’t beat. Dylan pulled back from him, shaking.

“Well?” Aron snapped.

Dylan jumped and shuddered. He shook his head and croaked some nonsense syllables.

Aron groaned. “I had four fucking nails left!”

Jay howled, throwing himself recklessly at Aron. The ropes tightened on his arms and creaked on the rafters above.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jay continued his howling and pulling. Aron stormed over and smacked the box off of Matty’s head. It clattered, and the nails rang as they rolled away in random directions. Matty launched himself at Aron, snarling and spitting and biting.

Aron shoved him in the direction of George and Danny. “Sit the fuck down, Curly-boy.”

“Fuck you,” Matty growled, but walked with shaking legs. He slumped down next to Danny.

“Hey, Matty?” Danny whispered.

“What?”

“You’ve got blood on your face.”

“Not much I can do about that.”

“It’s Jordon’s, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s dead, Daniel.”

Danny sat bolt upright. Matty slid off of him and hit the floor with a grunt. Jay was still yelling and kicking. Dylan sobbed into Jordon’s unmoving chest.

“He’s dead?” Danny whispered.

“That’s what he said, Golden Boy,” Aron said.

Danny wailed. Dylan’s sobs grew louder, and Jay’s howls shortened into painful chokes. Aron ignored him and headed for the electric heater. He pulled the branding iron out, crude cross glowing a dim red. Aron held it up and studied the hot metal, muttering under his breath.

Jay’s howls halted as Aron turned, holding the iron up. Aron went over to Dylan, who was still curled over Jordon’s body. Aron pulled Dylan’s shirt up and drove the hot cross into Dylan’s lower back. Dylan gasped and threw himself backwards into Aron, knocking him away and sending the iron skittering across the floor. Aron grunted and kicked Dylan in the head.

Dylan groaned and slumped down on top of Jordon. Aron pulled Dylan’s shirt back up, studying the reddening skin. He gave it a firm poke. Dylan groaned again. Aron stood back up and picked up the iron. He jogged to the heater, shoved the iron in and gave the heater a kick. It shook and roared.

“We’re going to have to come back to you, American Idol,” Aron said, “I just ain’t happy with that.”

“What the fuck are you going to do to me with that thing?” Danny said.

“Well Daniel; what do people usually do with a branding iron. Hold that thought; what did I literally just use the branding iron for, Daniel?”

Danny shuddered and sobbed.

“Not a fucking bright one, are you Golden boy? No mind, we’re moving on! Georgie!”

George jumped, raising the shiv in defense.

Aron spun in circles. “Where the fuck did I put them? I really should have just bought a fucking table.”

George stared at him.

Aron stopped and pointed at Jay. He walked over and ran his gloved fingers over Jay’s arms, counting the loops and knots. Dylan’s and Jordon’s blood was warm on the rubber and starting to thicken to a wet gum. “I was supposed to save a piece of this, god fucking dammit,” Aron smacked at Jay’s ropes, “Now what?”  
Nobody answered him.

Aron tapped his foot. “I can’t go letting you down, J-D, not when you’ve been kicking and screaming at me. I ain’t that stupid.”

Jay growled at him.

“Well crap man,” George said, “Might as well just cancel this whole fuck-shit and let us go.”

“No, that’s a terrible idea. Even if you didn’t go straight to the police, how you gonna explain King Kong and J-D to a hospital? How you gonna explain Scene Kid to a morgue? No way, we’re too far gone. I gotta think of something.”

Aron scanned the room and wandered over to the door. He picked up a small key tucked just under the door and turned it over in his hands as he walked back to Dylan and Jordon. Aron shoved Dylan away and rolled Jordon onto his front, unlocking his chain. He unwound it and dropped Jordon’s arms to his sides.

Dylan growled at Aron, trying to push himself up. He slipped on his own blood and fell heavy on his mangled arms with a yelp. Aron gave Dylan another shove, and Dylan rolled onto his back with an incoherent groan.

Aron stood up and tossed the chain over the rafters opposite Jay. He grabbed both ends and gave them a tug. “That might have to do, Porgie.”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to achieve here, man,” George said.

“Honestly, neither do I, but I’m enjoying myself so I ain’t too worried about it.”

Aron pulled George to his feet and prised the shiv from his hands. “Hold on to that for me, Golden Boy,” he held the shiv out to Danny.

Danny just stared at him.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Fuck. Matty!” Aron sat Matty up again and balanced the shiv on his head. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Matty had to hold his head up at an awkward angle to stop it from rolling off. “Fuck you,” he hissed.

Aron gave Matty’s face a gentle pat and stood back up.

Aron turned, and George swung his clasped hands straight into the side of Aron’s face. Aron reeled back and George followed him, kicking him hard in the shin. Danny hollered and struggled to his feet.

George grabbed Aron by the shoulder and shoved, sending Aron onto his backside. George kicked at him, foot connecting with his hip. Aron flinched away with a yell, and the .22 was forced from his waistband.  
Danny gave the little gun a kick and it spun off towards the wall. He stomped on Aron and screeched at him.

George left him to it, stumbling to Jordon and Dylan. He collapsed to his knees next to Jordon and rolled the frontman over. Jordon stared up at the rafters, eyes completely glazed over. George ran a careful hand over the studded jaw. The metal was cold and gummy and left George’s feather-light fingers red.

Jay screamed. Danny screamed.

Aron was stood, gripping Matty by the hair. Matty’s face was contorted as Aron drove the butterfly shiv into his collar bone. Aron’s cheek was blossoming pink.

Danny pulled away from Aron, stumbling and falling down. Aron let go of Matty’s hair and he dropped, yelping as the shiv was wrenched from his skin.

Aron strode over to George, Danny hasting out of the way. He scooted over to Matty, kneeling by him and checking the wound.

“It ain’t too deep,” he whispered, “You’ll be okay.”

Matty stared at him, expression tight, “You should have kept kicking him.”

“He was stabbing you!”

“And he’ll probably do it again. Might as well fight back before we all end up with Jordon.”

Danny sobbed.

“No!” Matty hissed, “Shut up! We can’t do anything when you’re like this! Shut up and see if you can find where Pony-pony dropped that key.”

Danny sniffled, took a deep breath, and looked around.

Aron had lead George to the hanging chain and padlocked his wrist chains to it. Aron retrieved his .22, checked it over and tucked it back into his waistband.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Porgie,” Aron said, rubbing his pinked cheek, “I was happy to stab you a few times, go for the lungs, let you spit blood and go fairly quickly, but no. You had to go and piss me off.”

“So you’re gonna bore me to death instead?” George said, “Shut your goddamned mouth and kill me you fucking coward.”

Aron punched George in the stomach and George grunted.

“Just told you; I ain’t letting you die easy,” Aron said.

“You’ve told me a lot of shit, you mouthy bastard.”

Aron punched George in the ribs. George flinched away, stumbled against his chains swung back. He spat at Aron, just missing him. Aron kicked him in the shin and left him to swing as he went to Danny and Matty.

“Where’s the shiv, French Fry?” Aron said.

“Dunno,” Matty said.

“You had it last when you were fucking stabbing him!” Danny said.

“I didn’t ask you, Murillo.” Aron dragged Matty to his feet, “Where is it?”

“Dunno,” Matty said again.

“Either you tell me, or I’m gonna make you hit Butterfly Boy with that hammer.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“I can and I fucking will. Where’s the shiv, Busek?”

“I don’t know, you took it.”

“It’s in your pocket,” Danny said. The glass butterfly poked out of the pocket, cracked wing now broken in half.

“I didn’t fucking ask you!” Aron kicked Danny in the chest. Danny fell back into the wall, winded.

“Bursek,” Aron said, shaking Matty with every word, “Where. The fuck. Is. My fucking. Shiv.”

“In your pocket,” Matty said.

Aron pulled the shiv from his pocket. “Huh. So it is. Come with me anyway.”

Aron grabbed Matty by the hair and dragged him over to George. He practically threw Matty into George’s side and grabbed Dylan. Dylan barely responded as Aron took him by the good leg and heaved him over to George and Matty. Aron dropped him and crouched, slapping and pinching him into consciousness.

Aron stood back up and shoved his shiv into Matty’s pocket. “Look after it, Curly, I don’t want to lose it again. He went over to Dylan and picked up the hammer. “I really should have just gotten a table, huh?”

Nobody answered him.

Aron walked back to George, swinging the hammer. “Tell you what, Two-Face, since you’re apparently the only one that can fucking behave; I’ll let you pick who I hit. Dylan or George.”

Dylan groaned incoherently.

“Dilly did nothing to you!” George said.

“He tried to hit me with a hammer!”

“You _did_ hit him with the hammer!”

“And I might just hit him again, now shut up and let Matty choose!”

“I don’t want to,” Matty muttered.

“What?”

“I said; I don’t fucking want to.”

“But you gotta!”

“Fuck you.”

“Now, Matthew,” Aron swung the hammer in circles, “Pick, or I’ll just hit both of ‘em, and then I’ll hit Danny, and then I’ll hit you.”

“You’ll hit us anyway, you fuck.”

“Nah, I was only going to hit Dilly with this thing. But then!” Aron poked George’s side with the hammer, “Butterfly Boy over here just had to start fighting back, didn’t he?”

“What do you expect, man?” George said. The hammer head had left smudges of blood in his shirt.

“I expect you to be a good little bitch, that’s what.”

“You’re fucking deranged.”

“And that’s your own fault, Johnny Three.”

“You can’t blame me for this. You’re the one with the hammer.”

“Good point. Now shut up.”

“Make me, bitch.”

Aron swung the hammer down onto Dylan’s wounded shoulder. Dylan howled, and George winced.

“Anything to add, Porgie?”

George glared, fists clenched and teeth bared.

“Good. Just waiting on you then, Matt-Matt.”

Matty shuddered a sigh. “I’m sorry, George.”

“It’s okay, man,” George said, “I wouldn’t have forgiven you if you’d picked Dilly.”

Dylan moaned and headbutted Matty in the leg. He shook his head violently up at Matty. The entire right side of his shirt was soaked red. Matty stepped out of his reach, refusing to look down.

“Hit George,” Matty said.

“No!” Dylan screamed.

Aron shoved Dylan down again and swung the claw end into George’s hip. George flailed, and Aron hit him again in the front of the thigh.

Dylan threw himself at Aron, missing him and sprawling on his front. He rose and launched up at Aron, biting his naked hip and flopping back down with a mouth full of Aron’s blood. Aron yelped and swung the hammer after Dylan. The heavy head skimmed the back of Dylan’s skull. Dylan slumped to the floor, spewing the blood with a yell as his weight dropped on his damaged arm. Aron kicked him in the side and rolled him over.

Matty kicked Aron in the back, almost shoving him to the floor. Aron turned and pulled the .22 from his waistband. Jay screamed.

“Nobody move, or the next bullet goes in Danny-boy’s dick!” Aron yelled.

Dylan and Matty froze. Jay fell silent.

“Keep kicking him!” Danny yelled.

“Shut up, Daniel!” George yelled.

“Two-face, go stand with J-D,” Aron said.

Matty glared at him as he passed. He stopped next to Jay and turned, expression hard and cold by Jay’s tear-stained face and bloody arms.

“Sit on the floor.”

Matty dropped to his knees then to his backside and crossed his legs like a child.

“There we go,” Aron shoved the gun back in his waistband.

Aron knelt on Dylan, knee digging into Dylan’s misshapen arm. Aron raised the hammer and thick blood dripped from the claw onto Aron’s shoulder.

“George!” Matty cried.

Aron’s head whipped back to face George. George hadn’t moved, still half-hanging from his rafter by his and Jordon’s chains, not daring to put any weight on his bruising leg.

“He ain’t doing nothing,” Aron said, “Don’t distract me like this, French Fry.”

“I said to hit George, not Dylan,” Matty said, “You’ve already hit Dilly.”

“And it’s George’s turn now?” Aron grinned.

“I’m not answering that.”

Aron stood, lifting his weight off of Dylan with eerie grace. Dylan groaned, flapping his arms as much as his chains and piercing bone would allow. Aron grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him over to Danny, throwing him down. Danny stooped over Dylan and muttered some random comfort. Dylan stared up at him.

Aron sauntered back to George and poked him in the back with the hammer’s wooden handle. He circled George, poking him repeatedly in the ribs, back and stomach. George barely flinched, eyes closed and hands clasped together. He mumbled under his breath, repeating a few choice lines over and over. Aron turned the hammer over in his hands as he circled George, smearing blood all over the handle. He looked George up and down, and stopped behind him.

Claw-first, Aron slammed the hammer into George’s shoulder blade. George gasped and fell forwards, arms tense and chains taut. Aron tore the hammer from George’s shoulder and slammed it into the other repeatedly, gouging chunks of flesh and shattering the bone underneath. George panted through his teeth, still muttering his whispered prayers. Aron worked his way across and down George’s back and along his spine.

Aron stopped as sharply as he had started, leaning the hammer on his shoulder and circling George again. George opened his eyes, bloodshot and tear-welled, and watched Aron pass. Aron smiled and began to pace in front of George, staring right back at him.

“Hey, Matt-Matt,” Aron called, “You wanna make another decision for me?”

“No,” Matty called back.

Aron laughed. “Tough shit. Who am I killing first; George or Dylan?”

Danny threw himself over Dylan. Dylan groaned in pain. George clasped his hands tighter, continuing to pray under his breath.

“How about neither and you let us go?” Matty said.

“Not an option, Curly-boy,” Aron said.

“How about you kill me instead?”

“Matty, no!” Dylan yelled.

“Also not an option,” Aron said, “I got plans for you.”

“How about you go fuck yourself?” Matty said

“Later. I don’t get a boner over men. Crazy concept for you gays, I know.”

“How about you kill yourself?”

“And then what, Busek? Because, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m the only guy in here with free hands,” Aron dropped the hammer, pulled the revolver from his waistband and pressed the barrel to his temple. “Is that what you want? Trapped in here, starving to death with two dead bodies? Although,” Aron stepped towards Matty, “Dylan won’t last long. I’d give him a coupla’ hours, tops. Then probably J-D, his circulation is fucking itself already - look at his hands. Then maybe Georgie Porgie.”

Aron couched in front of Matty, let himself fall back onto his backside and stretched his legs out around Matty. He moved the gun, burying it under his chin. “How long d'you think you'd last, Kurlzz? Two days? Three? Four?” He leaned forwards, face barely inches from Matty’s. “Do you think you’d do it? If you had to?”

Matty stared at him. “Do what?”

“Cannibalism?”

“You’re fucking sick.”

Aron cocked the gun’s hammer back. “I bet one of you would. You’d get desperate enough. Maybe Danny first. It’s always the nice ones, ain’t it. Can you just imagine,” Aron lowered the gun, looking over his shoulder to Dylan and Danny against the back wall.

Danny was still practically laid over Dylan, watching the pair. Dylan’s breathing was ragged. George hung between, mid-prayer.

Aron turned back to Matty. “Just sitting here, and you look up and there he is, blood all down him and skin in his mouth. How fucking gross would that be?”

“If you’re going to kill yourself, just fucking do it you pussy,” Matty spat.

Aron pressed the gun under his chin again. Jay jumped and swung on his ropes, kicking Aron in the side.

The gunshot rang and Aron slumped over. Dust rained from the roof.

Matty collapsed into Jay’s side. He stared blind, breathing speeding up. “What did I just do?”

Jay grunted through his tape gag, nudging Matty.

“What do we do? Jordon’s dead. Oh my god, Jordon’s fucking dead.”

Jay grunted louder. He gestured at Aron with his head.

Matty didn’t look up at him. “We’re gonna die in here. Where the fuck are those keys?”

Jay screamed. Matty jumped and his blind stare snapped up to Jay, vision focusing. Jay stretched out, kicking at Aron’s unmoving legs.

“What?”

“Matty,” George whispered, barely louder than a pin drop, “There’s no blood.”

Matty looked down at Aron. Aron laid on the floor, gun limp in his hand, face and head intact, chest rising and falling with every breath. His gaze was fixed on Matty’s face, too high for a dead man. He blinked and grinned.

“Fooled you, Matty.”

Matty screamed, bolting backwards. Aron sat up, caught Matty by the ankle and dragged him back. Matty kicked and screamed. He choked on his own panic, flailing blindly. Aron caught his other ankle, gun abandoned on the floor, and held Matty still by his legs as he continued to struggle.

Matty howled and froze up, panting. He stared up at the rafters. If he focused, he could almost make out the new hole in the warehouse roof, small and harmless.

“Frenchie?” Aron sang, and gave Matty’s legs a shake, “You gonna pick yet?”

Matty shook his head.

“But you gotta!”

Matty shook his head again.

Aron groaned and threw Matty’s legs down. He took the shiv from Matty’s pocket and stood up. “Suppose someone else could pick if you’re gonna be a little bitch about it.” Aron walked over to the back wall, both hands tucked behind him, “Hey Danny-boy! Which hand am I holding the shiv with?”

Danny rose, blinking at him. “What?”

“Which hand am I holding the shiv with? You gotta guess.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Now guess.”

“Left?”

Aron brought his left hand around and waved at Danny with an empty palm. “Tough luck, Golden Boy. You ain’t choosing anything. Dylan! Hold on,” Aron tucked his hand behind his back again. He flapped his arms like a gangly chicken, passing the shiv from hand to hand. “Which hand, Dilly-doo?”

Dylan looked across at Matty. Matty had sat up and was crying silently, leant on Jay’s leg. Dylan glanced at Aron then back at Matty. Matty cocked his head to his left a couple of times. Aron either hadn’t noticed Dylan’s shifting gaze or didn’t care. It was getting hard to tell what was going on in Aron’s head.

“Left,” Dylan said.

Aron brought his hand forwards again and waved the shiv at Dylan. “Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner.”

“What do I get? My life?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Aron said. He crouched down by Dylan, “You get to pick whether I kill you or Georgie first.”

“What a prize. I’m honoured.”

“You should be. Now choose, because if you all refuse I’m gonna start getting real pissed. I’ve already had enough go wrong with this shit.”

By now, Aron’s cheek was a stark, noticeable red.

“Would it be quick?” Dylan asked.

Aron stared at him, paused. “Ya’know what? Yeah. The fucking heater already fucked my plan, and then George just had to go ahead and fight me. I’m already off beat, I wanna be back on track.”

“Definitely quick, then?”

“Definitely quick.”

Dylan took a deep breath. “Kill George.”

Matty sat bolt upright, and Danny spasmed away from Dylan in shock.

“You’re sure on that one?” Aron asked.

“Yes,” Dylan said, “Kill George and kill him quickly.”

“What the fuck, Dylan?!” Matty yelled across the warehouse.

“Mr Fucko here’s gonna kill us all anyway!” Dylan yelled back, “At least it’ll be quick for one of us!”

“When I see you in hell,” George said, twisted to face Dylan, “I am going to kick the living shit out of you.”

“It’s a date, homie.”

George laughed.

Aron stepped up to George, practically pressing their chests flush together. George stared at him, hands still folded and clasped. Aron gripped George’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks, and traced the underside of George’s eye with the tip of the shiv. He tilted it up and pressed.

The lukewarm metal slid between the lids and into George’s left eye with a squelch. Blood and a thick, clear goo streamed down George’s cheek. George’s limbs shook as Aron continued to press the shiv in, tearing the eye open. Blistering pain flared as the tip was forced through the back of George’s eye, and his jaw dropped to a scream. It seemed to echo, bounced around the silenced room.

Aron gripped George by the throat and let go of the shiv. It sat there, sticking out of George’s skull. Aron pressed his thumb against the glued-on butterfly and pushed it like a stiff button. It resisted for only a few seconds, and slid in further. George’s scream climbed in pitch, and the echoes climbed in volume. The tip of a glass wing hit his browbone, and one of the smaller wings fell off completely as Aron pulled away and stepped back.

The screaming faded to agonised panting. George stared at Aron, limbs trembling. Tears dripped from one side of his jaw, and blood and goo dripped from the other.

George’s head dropped. His legs gave out from beneath him and his body went completely limp, slumping until only his and Jordon’s chains held him up.

Aron stepped away and grabbed Matty by the hair. He dragged Matty to his feet and practically threw him at George. Matty stumbled and twisted and fell, barrelling into George’s unresponsive legs. George’s body swung, kicking Matty in the side. Blood dripped onto Matty’s shirt, and Matty darted away with a scream.

“No - fucking - bitch - fuck!” Aron yelled.

Matty flinched away from him. Aron pulled Matty to his feet again and shook him.

“Pull yourself together, Curly Fry! You were so calm earlier, what the fuck happened?”

Matty whimpered, pressing back into Aron as he inched away from George’s still swinging body. Aron groaned, pushing and guiding Matty to George.

“I need you to check he’s dead, Matt-Matt,” Aron said, gathering Matty’s hair into a bunch, “I promised Dylan it’d be quick.”

“You fucking check!” Matty cried, trying to pull away. Aron’s grip on his hair tightened.

“I can’t; I’m wearing gloves.”

“I can’t; my hands are tied.”

Aron reached past Matty and lifted George’s shirt up to his neck. He pulled on Matty’s hair and shoved, forcing Matty’s head into George’s chest. Matty wailed and Aron twisted, pressing Matty’s ear against George’s skin.

Matty sobbed, and Aron clamped a hand over Matty’s mouth and nose. Matty struggled, knocking George swinging again. Aron didn’t move, suffocating Matty with an expectant stare. George swung back forwards, practically leaning on Matty as Aron held the drummer still. Matty strained to listen, and his lungs strained for air. Aron forced Matty’s head into George’s chest.

No movement. No breath. No heartbeat. Matty looked up at Aron and shook his head as much as Aron’s grip would let him.

Aron let go of him, and Matty collapsed to his knees at George’s feet, sobbing and wailing. Blood clung to his hair, slicking it back out of his face. Danny sobbed against the back wall. Dylan muttered under his breath. Jay stomped his feet and screamed.

Aron walked over to the heater, whistling lightly. He pulled the iron out and twirled it. The cross glowed white and Aron shoved it back in.

“I think you’re ready, Golden Boy!” he called.

Danny screamed. Aron skipped over and pulled Danny to his feet. Danny struggled, almost tearing himself from Aron’s grip. Aron cracked Danny’s head back against the wall and frogmarched him straight over Dylan, past George and Matty, to drop him in front of Jay.

“Stay there, Goldie,” Aron said with a point, “Don’t move, or it’s Matty that gets it.”

Matty choked at him, random syllables that would have been insults if he could articulate them.

Aron unsheathed the iron again. He flicked his fingers at it a few times until a thick glob of blood flew from the rubber and landed on the glowing cross. It hissed and vanished in grey smoke. Aron walked over to Danny, twirling the iron like a baton. “You wanna guess where this is going?”

Danny shook his head.

“Not one guess? I promise I’m not going to brand you there if you guess it wrong.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame you. I should probably just shut up and get on with it, huh?”

Danny swallowed thickly.

Aron took Danny by the hair and pulled him to his knees. He tilted Danny’s head back and pressed part of the red iron against Danny’s browbone. Danny’s flesh hissed and blistered, smoke curling from the metal. Danny’s jaw dropped to a scream. Aron grunted, pulling the cross away and forcing it against Danny’s face again. It connected with his cheekbone, one of the shorter prongs just millimetres from his eye.  
Aron dropped Danny and glared at the cross like it had done him a personal wrong.

“It’s too big!” Aron said, “It’s too fucking big!”

Dylan chuckled weakly, “That’s what your mom said last night.”

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.”

“She said that, too.”

Aron screamed at him.

“And that.”

Matty managed a giggle.

Aron stormed over to Dylan. He raised the iron above his head. Dylan just laughed up at him.

Aron took a deep breath, and lowered the iron. “Shut the fuck up. That heater has been a pain in my goddamned ass, I don’t wanna be reheating this thing.”

“Not my fault you made your weapons wrong,” Dylan said.

No. But you can shut the fuck up for five minutes.”

“Nah. You’re gonna kill me either way, might as well get a few last laughs.”

“You ain’t funny.”

“I am funny. I’m the motherfucking Funny Man.”

“It’s a misnomer.”

"I don’t give a fuck. I’m the motherfucking Funny Man.”

Aron kicked Dylan in the arm. Dylan hissed and half-rolled away. Aron stormed back to Danny and Jay. Red blisters were already forming around Danny’s eye. Aron pulled Danny up again, and lined the iron up carefully.

Three of the crude prongs pressed into Danny’s temple, the fourth hovering just in front of his eyeball. Danny blinked and the white metal singed his eyelashes. Aron tilted the handle, rolling the iron, and the fourth prong blistered straight into Danny’s eyeball.

Danny howled. He threw himself backwards, tearing out of Aron’s grip. Aron followed Danny as he struggled away, sobbing. Aron pulled the .22 from his waistband, cocked, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Blood, skull and brains exploded. Danny’s body hit the floor with a thud.

Jay screamed. Aron turned, Danny’s blood splattered up his torso and a serene smile on his face.

“Danny?” Dylan called.

Aron shoved the gun back into his waistband. “Dead and done with.”

Dylan raised his arms and shot Aron the middle finger. The hole in his hand was still gushing blood with every pained movement. Aron laughed and flipped him one back. Ignoring the blood, he looked like he was greeting a close friend.

Aron walked over and crouched down next to Matty. Matty’s breathing was still ragged and panicked.

“You’re the only one left now, Curly Fry,” Aron said.

Matty glared at him. He took a deep breath and let it out. And another. And another.

“Nothing to say?”

Matty kicked him, pushing him over.

Aron sighed and shook his head in disappointment as he stood back up. He pulled Matty to his knees and dragged him across the floor to Jay. He smoothed Matty’s hair back out of his face, slicking it down with a gelatinous mix of blood. Matty grimaced at the warmth of the gory gel, but stayed silent.

Aron bent down to pull something out of Matty’s pocket. He held it up to Matty’s face, and the tiny blade glinted in the harsh light. It was an exacto knife, small, slim and shiny. Aron twirled it between his fingers like a drumstick.

“I wanted to get a scalpel for you, but I thought I’d look a bit suspicious buying a scalpel,” Aron said, “Don’t exactly look like a surgeon, do I?”

Matty stared at the blade.

“It’s a pretty similar thing though, ain’t it?” Aron traced idle lines into Matty’s face as he spoke, “I mean; I ain’t really used either of ‘em before. I think I got the idea from a cake decorating forum. I did consider buying a scalpel and claiming it was for cake decorating, like cutting shapes outta fondant and shit, but I don’t really look like a cake decorator either. It’s all these tats, man, people ain’t half judgemental about ‘em. You know what I’m on about.”

Matty wasn’t listening. Jay stared at Aron, clenching and unclenching his purpling hands.

Aron drew a lazy swirl up Matty’s cheek, around his eye and across his forehead. The blade sliced through Matty’s skin with ease, leaving beads of blood after it. Matty stared up at Jay, breathing slow and forced, barely blinking. Aron placed the blade in the middle of Matt’s hairline and dragged it down, slicing a wobbly line down Matty’s forehead and nose. Blood swelled from the wound, chasing it’s blade down Matty’s face.

Aron continued the line over the tip of Matty’s nose, feathering the line as he changed angle. “Coulda maybe done to practice this, huh?” he laughed.

Matty didn’t respond. The blade sliced straight through Matty’s lips and continued down to the tip of his chin.

Aron changed his angle sharply, gouging a little hole in Matty’s chin. He drew along Matty’s jaw and up past his ear, over his temple and along his dense hairline until it connected with it’s origin.

Matty hadn’t made a sound. The line encircled the entire right side of his face and blood was dripping down his forehead and jaw.

Aron leant close to Matty, grinning. “Scream for me, Matty.”

Aron pressed the blade into the wound and twisted, prising the flesh up a thin millimeter at a time. He made his way along Matty’s forehead, picking off the skin with twists and tugs and gentle pulls until it started to peel away in large chunks. Matty stared up into Jay’s face, stubbornly silent, tears falling free. Jay sobbed and choked, muffled on his tape.

Aron gripped the skin of Matty’s forehead and pulled. Matty’s eyebrow peeled away easily but stopped at Matty’s eye. Aron tugged but Matty’s eyelid held fast. Aron pulled the skin as far as the ligaments and tear duct would allow and sliced through the thin binds lazily. Aron continued to pull. Matty’s forehead continued to bleed. The blood ran down into Matty’s unprotected eye. Matty gasped and winked repeatedly, still-attached eyelid fluttering uselessly.

The skin fell away from Matty’s jaw with only a few extra slices. Aron held the flap of flesh and waved it. Jay threw up in his mouth and choked on it. Matty stared at it, still winking, eye stinging and full of blood.

Aron dropped the skin. “Give us a smile, Matty!”

Matty’s naked muscles shifted and tensed. The intact halves of his lips parted and curved up, teeth stained red. “Fuck. You.”

Aron smiled back, pulled the .22 from his waistband, cocked and pressed the barrel into Matty’s blood-gelled hair. He squeezed the trigger, and Matty slumped sideways in an explosion of blood and brains, last smile frozen in his face.

Jay screamed and gurgled. Aron stood up and tore the tape straight off of Jay’s mouth. Jay spat out vomit, Aron stepping out of the way and giving him a few smacks on the back.

“You’re a bit of a leightweight these days, huh?” Aron said.

Jay kept choking. Aron left him there, and sauntered over to Dylan. He checked his gun as he walked, opening the cylinder and dropping the five shells on the floor.

“Only one left,” he said, “How’re you holding up, motherfucking Funny Man?”

“Awesome,” Dylan said, “Peachy. Fucking lit.”

“You’re losing it, man.”

“Yeah.”

Aron tapped his gun against his chin. “I honestly didn’t expect you to last this long.”

“I’m just that stubborn, just to fuck up your programme. It’s a close to revenge as I’m gonna get right now.”

“‘Right now’,” Aron repeated with a laugh.

“Yeah, ‘right now’. You can bet your punk bitch ass Imma haunt you from the minute I die until the minute you do. I’m gonna be there in your fucking dreams, man. And when youre all depressed and paranoid and shit on some cheap fucking pills, I’m gonna be that thing in the corner of your eye that you can’t focus on long enough to be sure I’m really there. Imma sit my invisible ass down in that courtroom as they sentence you for this. You’re gonna be seeing me everywhere you look, every shining surface, every drunk hallucination, every shadow, every black mask. As long as you breathe, Imma make you remember what you did to us. You ain’t never gonna forget us, and you ain’t never gonna forget the homie Funny Man.”

Aron stared down at him. He raised his foot and pressed the sole of his rubber boot into Dylan’s throat. He stepped up, balancing his weight on Dylan’s Adam’s apple. Dylan gasped, spine grinding and lungs straining for air that couldn't come. Dylan smacked at Aron’s ankle and shin for barely a few seconds before his arms slumped.

Aron stepped back down. Dylan gave a long sigh and his body went completely limp. Glassy eyes stared up at the rafters.

“So then there was one,” Aron said.

Jay sobbed, hanging weakly from his ropes. The tape’s glue had left a rectangle of red around Jay’s mouth.

Aron wandered around the room. He kicked the heater off and its roar died. He picked up the key, dropped by Jordon’s body, and pocketed it. He stopped behind Jay and pulled on the ropes. They tightened, twisted a little, and slackened off completely.

Jay collapsed to the floor, legs stiff and useless. He threw himself over Matty, gathering his body in his heavy arms and sobbing into his bloody hair. Aron crouched by Jay, pulling on the remaining ropes and letting them unwind from Jay’s skin. Dark bruises and rope burns crossed over Jay’s arms, marring tattooes. His hands were almost blue with blood loss. Jay pulled Matty into his lap as he cried, shaking Matty uselessly. Aron stood up and headed to the heater, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Gimme key,” Jay mumbled.

“Huh?” Aron stopped.

“I said; give me the fucking key.”

“They’re dead J-D, what you gonna do?”

Jay held a numb hand out, glaring Aron down.

Aron groaned and tossed the key at Jay. It landed next to him, and Jay smacked his hand down over it. It took Jay several minutes of clenching and unclenching his fists before he gained back enough circulation to pick the little key up, still having to scrabble for it in the blood and grime.

Jay mumbled an apology to Matty and rolled him over. The locks are generic, picked up from a dollar store. Jay shoved the key into the lock and twisted.

The lock clunked open. Jay pulled it off the chain and lobbed it at Aron. He missed by several feet.

Jay unravelled the chain and rolled Matty back over. The smile had fallen as Matty’s dead muscles relaxed, and the blood has thickened to a glittering sheen. Jay stroked the unpeeled half of Matty’s face, closing the eye. He laid Matty out straight and crossed Matty’s hands over his chest.

Jay stood and took the key over to Danny. He kicked the iron as far away as his weak legs could manage. He rolled Danny over, the back of Danny’s skull completely blown open. Jay unlocked him, launched the lock at Aron, rolled Danny back over and organised his body.

Aron sat himself in front of the cooling heater and lit up a cigarette.

Jay closed Danny’s eyes, mumbled a short prayer and stood up. Danny looked peaceful despite the cloud of blood under his head.

Jay stumbled over to Jordan and rolled him over. He closed Jordon’s eyes and crossed Jordon’s arms. He sobbed and pressed his forehead against Jordon’s, wailing into another crying fit.

Aron smoked through his cigarette and lit another as Jay screamed.

Jay dragged himself up and stumbled over to George blindly. He crashed straight into George and hugged his unmoving body. Jay had to stand on his tiptoes to pull the first lock off. George collapsed on top of Jay, dead legs useless. Jay staggered under George’s weight and fell, George landing on top of him.

Aron laughed like he was watching a slapstick comedy.

Jay rolled, laying George down and kneeling next to him. He unlocked George’s chain and launched both his and Jordon’s locks at Aron with a scream. Aron dodged George’s lock, but threw himself straight in the path of Jordon’s. It smacked him square in the forehead. Jay hollered and turned to grin at Jordon. Jordon didn’t respond, and Jay’s grin dropped.

Jay turned back to George, folding George’s arms and closing his eye. Jay gripped the shiv and gave it a cautious tug. One of the glass wings broke off. The shiv shifted barely a few millimetres and a thick glob of blood dripped down the side of George’s face. Jay muttered an apology and a short prayer, and stood up again. He walked over to Dylan and slumped down next to him.

Dylan’s thrown padlock didn’t go anywhere near Aron, but Jay didn’t care. He unwrapped the chain and held Dylan’s broken arm up. Jay pulled on Dylan’s wrist and the bone began to slide back in. Jay groaned with effort, trying to push the bone into its proper place. It caught on Dylan’s inked skin, and Jay didn’t have the heart to tear Dylan’s skin any further.

Jay put Dylan’s arm down and crossed the other over the top. He adjusted Dylan’s body, straightening his legs, repositioning his head, closing his eyes. A bloody bootprint clung to Dylan’s neck.

Aron stubbed out his second cigarette and lit up a third as he watched Jay stand up. “Cig?” he held the pack out.

Jay sat himself next to Aron and took a cigarette. Aron held the lighter up to him and Jay nodded, putting the cigarette in his mouth. Aron lit the cigarette, and Jay sighed smoke.

“You’re fucking messed up, man,” Jay croaked.

“Yeah,” Aron said.

The heater was still warm and Jay leant against it, staring at the wall opposite. His throat burned with sobbing and vomit.

“It’s a bit late to say sorry, ain’t it?” Aron said.

“Much too late.”

“I’m gonna say it anyway.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I really don’t fucking care.”

“I was a real shitty friend.”

“You don’t say.”

“You were my best goddamned friend.”

“And you were mine, and I ain’t murdered nobody over it.”

Aron sighed. The pair smoked through their cigarettes in silence.

Jay stubbed it out between his legs. “What now? You’re gonna kill me?”

“You want me to?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

Aron stubbed his cigarette out next to him, with the other two. He sat up, and the heater has left angry red marks across his naked shoulders. “You got anything you want to say to me?”

“You mean like your shitty apology?”

“Yeah, I guess. Anything.”

Jay took a deep breath. “Fuck you, fuck everything you love, fuck everything you believe in and fuck everything you stand for.”

“That?” Aron groaned, “That’s all you to say to me?”

“It needed saying.”

Aron pulled the .22 from his waistband and cocked it.

“Is that bullet for you or for me?” Jay said.

“You. I got a tribute concert to plan.”

“Make sure you turn up for it.”

Aron rolled his eyes at him, and Jay just laughed. For all of a second they were teenagers again, delinquents smoking and cracking dumb jokes in some abandoned part of Inglewood they shouldn’t be in. Aron pressed the gun against Jay’s temple.

Jay looked Aron dead in the eye. “I don’t regret anything.”

Aron pulled the trigger. Jay fell away from him in a splatter of his own blood and brains.

Aron tucked the gun under Jay’s hand, moving Jay’s finger over the trigger. He stood, stepped out of his boots and padded to the door, avoiding slick puddles of blood as he went. He pulled the door open, flicked the lights out and left, letting the door close behind him.

The closest pay phone was three miles away from the old warehouses. He faked a bad Vermont accent and called himself a dogwalker as the dispatcher picked up. He said he’d been passing the old warehouses with his dogs when he’d seen strange people running around and heard shouting. The dispatcher told him to stay put, sir, the police were on their way. Aron thanked them, hung up without leaving a name, and drove away.

Aron bleached the boots, gloves and jeans clean in the sink of a motel room just south of Sacramento, and left them in a dumpster there the next morning before he finished the drive back up to Oregon.

The news broke as he crossed the state border; “Cali rap-rock band Hollywood Undead have been found in what police are calling a murder-suicide. Jorel Decker, Jordon Terrell, George Ragan, Matthew Busek, Daniel Murillo and Dylan Alvarez, otherwise known as J-Dog, Charlie Scene, Johnny Three Tears, Da Kurlzz, Danny and Funny man, were found by police yesterday after a tipoff about suspicious activity. Police believe that the murders may have been committed by Mr Decker before taking his own life, but have yet to release any further details.”

Aron switched the radio over to a CD and pulled over to tweet; “Just heard the news. This can’t be happening.”

His phone buzzed, notifications already bursting with a mad mix of hate and support. Aron switched his phone off and continued to drive.

* * *

 

In the weeks that came, Aron reached out to the families of the deceased. They rejected him, and he cried about it in several interviews.

He stood on the stage, the crowd singing ‘The Loss’ back at him. Flecks of gold, blue and red shimmered in the sea of black, dark clothes and homemade masks surrounding as far as he could see. He stared into the face of a Funny Man mask, and swore he could har Jay’s easy laughter. A Danny made heart-hands at him, and the Johnny next to them had drawn butterflies on their hands in Sharpie. A Charlie Scene was hugging a Da Kurlzz tight and they moved together, slow dancing in the front row.

Aron collapsed and let a sob wreck through his body. The microphone dropped into his lap, heavy as a murder weapon.

**Author's Note:**

> Long A/N is long, just please appreciate me if you enjoyed this. Kudos, comment, I don't care, please love me.
> 
> I know Truth/Varden has retired from music, but he came back for this concert. Suspension of disbelief, yeah?  
> .22 handguns are a thing, right? I wouldn't know, I'm British, I don't handle anything more dangerous than a BB but Google said .22 handguns are a thing so I'm trusting Google. The .22 is a reference to Now You See My Life by Deuce and SkeeLo  
> Aron was completely bluffing when he threatened to shoot Jay. You don't really call the bluff of a nutjob with a gun though, do you?  
> Fun fact; I first wrote this long-hand (i.e. on paper) and misspelt 'Jordon' as 'Jordan' for the entire 43 fucking pages  
> The line about 'Butterfly Boy' just had to fight back is kind of a joke on me; George didn't fight back when I planned this/imagined this while listening to NBL by Deuce. I just kinda threw it in when I hit a wall and it kinda fit I thought. So take my advice; if in doubt, punch someone in the face  
> I'll leave it up to you to decide if the sobbing fit at the end is real or more acting
> 
> I tried to make the torture reflect something about their masks;  
> CHARLIE was all in the jaw, i.e. would be covered by his bandana  
> JOHNNY got a butterfly to the eye  
> DANNY got a cross to the eye  
> KURLZZ got half his face cut off  
> J-DOG was more the early Deuce mask; pink tape and tears  
> FUNNY was more King-Kong inspired, and originally had his limbs shattered and bent akin to a gorilla, don't ask me what happened to that idea
> 
>  
> 
> I originally planned this to be much longer and also draw reference to NYSML, in which Aron was caught after the guys' better halves demanded a better investigation. In that version, Aron was in court, and his attitude dropped immediately from 'They were GoOd MeN!!1' to 'fuk ye i did it' as soon as he realised he was busted. He also began to hallucinate (think FM's speech) and have night terrors about the murders. He was, of course, in the middle of a media shitstorm and loving every second of it. He had a meltdown outside of the courtrooms after his sentencing after he was surrounded by fans in masks and hallucinated the HU boys (or it was their ghosts oooo) in the crowd covered in gore.   
> I dropped that because Jesus hell this is long enough already. I only wrote this because I felt like I hadn't written anything I enjoyed in so fucking long, so I picked an idea that was on my mind and rolled with it. 43 pages longhand/31 pen changes/30 typed pages/ fuck knows how much swearing at my shitty internet later, and here we are. A somewhat decent, coherent gore story. Four for me, go me.
> 
> Nobody likes me, 17th June - 26th July 2017, and I am done.  
> Love me. Please.  
> Laurel Silver


End file.
